Now, Liam looked at Rocky, running carefree with the dog, and he thought about how what had happened to Rocky wasn’t his fault. In the same way, what had happened to him and Cash and Sean hadn’t been their fault.
Rocky couldn’t change what his parents did, and he could still become a great person. Liam believed the same of his brothers: Sean and Cash were both good men despite their miserable excuse for a father.
What about him? Could he give himself the same opportunity, forgiveness and grace as he gave to others?
* * *
THE NEXT TUESDAY, Yasmin opened the door of the women’s center at lunchtime, thinking she’d eat her sandwich outside, only to discover Rita and Norma standing there, arguing.
“Hey, girls,” she said, trying to infuse some energy into her voice.
That was how it had been with her for the last couple of days: trying to muster energy she didn’t have. A dark cloud seemed to press down on her, making every movement and activity a huge challenge.
In her mind, a continual refrain chanted: schizophrenic, schizophrenic. It was so persistent that she wondered if it, too, was part of the voices that would plague her more and more as her condition worsened.
“We’re here to drag you away from your work.” Rita held out a hand. “Come on, you have some sneakers in there, right? Let’s go for a walk.”
Yasmin tried to smile. “Thank you guys, so much, but I just can’t. I have a ton of paperwork to do.” Even as she said it, she felt a kind of hopelessness descending over her. How could she get everything done? Even now, Rocky was at home playing video games under Josiah’s half-baked supervision. No telling what trouble or conflicts might arise between them. She should really be there. But she had a responsibility to her board of directors and especially to her clients. She couldn’t let them down, even though she was increasingly aware that the job was too much for one woman to do.
“You look awful.” Norma put her hands on her hips. “A little fresh air will make you do better work, faster.”
Probably true. And of course she looked awful. She’d just started experiencing symptoms of a severe and lifelong mental illness.
“We won’t take no for an answer,” Rita said.
They wouldn’t, either. She could tell. “It’s too hot,” Yasmin said weakly. But she waved them into her office and hunted under her desk to find her shoes.
When she sat up, Rita was looking around the room, her face pale, a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead. “I feel it, more than ever. I’ve been here before.”
Her tone was odd. “Where, in this back office? I don’t think so.” Rita volunteered at least once a week, but Yasmin discouraged volunteers from coming into her office. Partly because there were sensitive records here, but also because she was embarrassed about the stacks of files she never had time to put away.
“A long time ago.” Rita looked around. “In this room.”
“You mean, before you moved here? Did you travel through?”
Norma waved her hand in Yasmin’s direction, a “be quiet” gesture. She touched Rita’s arm, studying her intently for a few seconds. And then she turned back toward Yasmin. “Did this office used to be more central to the center’s operations?”
“I think so, before the church was renovated.” Yasmin watched Rita, concerned. She seemed close to hyperventilating.
“Do you have any old records from the center? Any intake forms, that kind of thing?”
“There are a bunch of files in the basement, but I’m not sure what kind of shape they’re in. We had some water damage a few years ago.” She tilted her head to the side, distress for her friend pushing aside her own worries. “Rita? Are you okay? Do you want something to drink? Want me to look something up?”
Rita waved a hand. “I’m fine. No need to look at old records.” She stood up quickly. “I’ll be outside.” She hurried out of the office.
Yasmin stuffed her feet into sneakers and stood, frowning as she looked in the direction Rita had gone. Rita was always so calm and steady. “Is she okay?”
“Pretty much so,” Norma said, standing up. “But we could all use the opportunity to oxygenate our brains.”
Outside, the warm, humid air pressed in on Yasmin, an oppressive embrace. She pulled her hair up into a high ponytail as the other two women started toward the park, then trudged after them.
After a minute, Rita dropped back to walk beside her, and Yasmin studied her face covertly. What had set her off in the center?
And right on the heels of that thought came her own worry: Would she be able to care about other people once she was in the grips of the disease, or heavily medicated to manage it?
Around her rose the cute cottages and tall Victorians of her hometown, fronted by lovingly tended little yards. Bougainvillea and yellow jessamine lined porches and picket fences, sharing their sweet fragrance. You had to watch your step: most of the sidewalks were buckled up from tree roots, because nobody in Safe Haven was quick to cut down the huge live oaks that lined the streets, providing shade and a home for the lacy decoration of Spanish moss that hung from the branches.
What would it all be to her once her illness got worse? Would she still get that warm, home-base feeling from walking through town?
She wondered whether Josiah still enjoyed the pounding waves and hot sand and open vistas that had drawn him to the beach all his life. Or was his joy damaged by the symptoms of his illness? Why hadn’t she talked to him more about what it was like to experience delusions? She’d been trying to be sensitive, but in reality, she’d just left him to cope with his symptoms alone.
“I’m just plain freaked-out,” Rita said suddenly, breaking into Yasmin’s ruminations.
“Why?” She looked over, concerned.
A muscle jumped in Rita’s cheek. “Yasmin, I don’t tell most people this, but you might as well know that I have amnesia. There’s a whole big chunk of my past that I don’t remember.” She paused, then added, “And I think part of it took place in Safe Haven.”
“Amnesia?” Thoroughly jolted out of her own anxiety, Yasmin studied her friend. “That must be awful! I kind of thought it just happened in books.”
“Nope.” Rita kept walking, staring at the sidewalk in front of her.
“Wow.” Yasmin leaned over and gave Rita a quick shoulder hug, wishing she could alleviate the older woman’s pain in some way. “You seem so, I don’t know, normal and together. I’d never have guessed.”
“I’m a good faker.” Rita’s mouth twisted a little.
“Keep up the pace, guys,” Norma said over her shoulder. “I want to hear all the gossip.”
They both sped up so that they were walking right behind Norma again. “That must be so hard to deal with,” Yasmin said to Rita. “How much of your life is...”
“Gone? Only about the first thirty years.” Rita glanced over at her. “I’m starting to get glimmerings, though.”
“Like what happened in the center.”
Rita nodded. “Yeah.”
“Do you think you were a client there?”
Rita shrugged and lifted her hands. “I have no idea.”
“Wow. That must make everything hard.” They’d reached the edge of the town park, but it was deserted enough that they could continue their conversation. Most Southerners wouldn’t venture out in the noontime heat. “Do you remember, like, your parents? Brothers and sisters?”
“Husband? Kids?” Rita shook her head. “None of it, before I found myself in Maine at age thirty.”
“With a common-law husband who was crazy about her,” Norma tossed over her shoulder.
“You’re kidding!” Yasmin stared at the friendly waitress who had such a complicated life story.
“He’d found me around here,” Rita explained. “Which is why, once he passed on, I decided to move back. Only it doesn’t feel like b
ack, most of the time. It all feels new.”
“Do people know? Around here, I mean. Because we have a pretty major sense of history here, and a lot of old people who remember everything that ever happened in Safe Haven. I could introduce you to—”
Rita waved both hands. “No, no. I... I have to take this a little bit at a time. Despite what she tells me to do.” She nodded at Norma.
“Even though it’s basically wrecking her relationship with a good man. Jimmy,” she added to Yasmin. Then she looked at Rita. “What? She’s not going to say anything.”
“I won’t,” Yasmin assured Rita. The fact that Rita and Jimmy liked each other wasn’t exactly news, not to anyone with eyes in this town.
“Don’t you give it another thought,” Rita said. “I know you, Yasmin. You’re the type to worry about other people. But I’m not going to become another problem on your plate. You have enough of your own to deal with.”
“I won’t. It’s just... I care about you, you know?”
“You’re a sweetheart.” Rita pulled her over for a quick side-hug.
They swung along quietly for a few minutes. Her older friends had been right: she felt better from getting out in the sun, and even more, from spending time with friends.
She had a thought: maybe this was what it would be like to have a normal, mentally healthy mother. Someone who’d bully you into taking a walk because it was good for your health. Someone you could talk to, and, as you got older, they’d share their problems with you, too. So you could help each other, or at least give a shoulder to cry on. Younger helping older, older helping young.
Someone who’d be there for you if you got yourself into some big, big trouble, or found yourself with a terrible problem on your hands.
“Speaking of men,” Rita said finally, “how are things going between you and Liam?”
“Must be convenient,” Norma added with a wicked grin, “having him live right there on your property.”
“I wouldn’t call it convenient.” Yasmin slowed, considering Rita’s question. What was her relationship with Liam like? How was it going? Did they even have a relationship?
And if Rita was finding her relationship with Jimmy to be negatively affected by her amnesia...what would happen to any relationship between Liam and Yasmin, when it came to light that she suffered from the same condition Josiah had?
There would be no relationship, that was all.
Tears welled up and her throat tightened.
You knew you couldn’t have a relationship. You’d decided that. You knew this issue ran in the family. You’d decided not to have kids.
But the reality was that when Liam had come back into her life, she’d started to hope. She’d started to care.
If she were honest with herself, she’d never stopped. But recently, since he was almost living with her, since he was helping her with Rocky, since he’d kissed her...she’d gotten attached. Again. Even more.
What was she supposed to do with that?
Her throat felt like a giant vise was constricting it, because the answer was nothing. She could do nothing.
“Hey,” Rita said, putting a hand on her arm, making her stop walking. “You okay? Are things that bad with Liam?”
Yasmin blinked back tears. “He kind of pulled away from me again,” she said. “I don’t know why, but that’s what it’s always been like for us. We’re not going to be a thing.”
Rita looked at her sharply. “I thought you cared about him,” she said. “It sure seemed that way. Do you think he’s too damaged from his childhood to have a relationship?”
“No!” That was an odd thing for Rita to think, and Yasmin frowned at her, then started walking again, this time more slowly, and both Rita and Norma fell into step with her. “That’s not it at all. I just... I have some issues that make it not very smart for me to think long-term with any man. The stuff I told you about before.” She looked off across the greenery in the park. “If I had a relationship, if I thought long-term with any man, it would be Liam.”
There. She’d said it.
If she chose any man—if she could—it would be Liam.
“Okay, look,” Rita said to Yasmin. She indicated a park bench. “Sit down there and talk to Norma. She knows everything there is to know about mental health.”
But Yasmin didn’t feel especially comfortable with Norma, and she didn’t want to confide in her. The woman might have a good heart, but she was brash and abrasive. What harsh thing would she say to Yasmin when she found out the truth about her?
Then again, nothing Norma said could be worse than what Yasmin was saying to herself.
And with these two women, pushy didn’t even begin to describe it. They wouldn’t let it alone until she did what they thought was right.
“Fine,” she said, and sat down on the old green bench.
“I’m going to take a spin around the park,” Rita said. “Back in fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“That’s a long time for a spin.” Norma sounded amused. “Or wait. Is this when the guys play shirts and skins down at the basketball court?”
Rita’s cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “Maybe they do. And maybe Jimmy said he’s going to be playing. You got a problem with that?”
Norma lifted her hands, palms out. “No, no. I’m all in favor of love. And of handsome men with their shirts off.”
“You are bad.” Rita walked off toward the basketball courts at a rapid clip.
They both watched her, and then there was a minute of silence. It felt awkward to Yasmin, and she looked over to see if it was striking Norma the same way.
Norma looked perfectly relaxed. But then, Norma had a background in counseling. She was probably accustomed to letting her clients find their own pace.
Yasmin stalled. “I hate to take advantage of your expertise for free. Isn’t this kind of like how everyone goes up to a doctor at a party, and tells her all of their aches and pains?”
Norma cackled. “Believe me, I’ve had my share of people telling me all kinds of extremely private things at parties. But this is different. You’re a friend.”
The words, simple and direct, made surprising tears push at the backs of Yasmin’s eyes. She blinked and swallowed. What was wrong with her? Was it PMS?
And now she felt bad about getting annoyed with Norma. She didn’t have so many friends that she could afford to turn one down, even if Norma’s personality was a little bit challenging. “I think I might have schizophrenia,” she blurted out.
Norma let out a bray of laughter. “You? I don’t think so.”
Yasmin lifted her chin, her good thoughts about Norma fading. “I have like five out of seven of the symptoms,” she said.
“What, on Wikipedia?”
Heat rose to Yasmin’s cheeks. “Yeah.”
Norma shook her head. “People self-diagnose all the time thanks to the wonders of the internet,” she said. “Ninety percent of the time, they’re dead wrong.”
She looked ready to dismiss the whole subject, but Yasmin suddenly didn’t want to. So she didn’t like Norma a whole lot. Who better to confide in, than someone she wasn’t likely to spend a lot of time with in the future? “My brother’s been diagnosed,” she said. “And my mom has some mental health issues, as well. My understanding is that it’s genetic, or at least, that there’s a genetic component. Am I wrong about that?”
The smile slid off Norma’s face. She closed her eyes for a quick moment, then opened them, looked at Yasmin and patted her arm. “I’m sorry. Sorry about your brother, and sorry not to take you seriously.”
“So... Given that and the symptoms I’ve been having...”
“Tell me your symptoms.” Norma’s jokey exterior had vanished, and in its place was the face of a seasoned professional. Even her workout clothes didn’t detract from her intensity.
So Yasmin told her about the voices, and the forgetfulness and depression and confusion. Norma nodded through the whole story, her expression thoughtful.
“So... What do you think?” Yasmin gripped the edge of the bench, the splintery wood digging into her palms.
Norma hesitated, then spoke. “Look, this isn’t my specialty. And it would be ridiculous to make a diagnosis on a park bench. If you’re worried about having any mental illness, you should see a professional in a professional setting.”
“So you do think I have it.” Yasmin had thought she felt the worst she could feel, but now she realized she had only scratched the surface. Because the serious look in Norma-the-psychologist’s eyes had her stomach plunging.
“Actually, I don’t.” Norma tucked a foot under her thigh and turned, facing Yasmin more directly. “Yes, it’s a possibility. And yes, you’re still within the age limits of diagnosis for women. So getting tested would be a good idea.”
Yasmin nodded, lifting her shirt out to let the slight breeze cool her sweaty stomach and chest.
“But I’ve never seen a case where the patient knew, in a lucid state, that he or she had it. People with schizophrenia, their delusions seem real to them. Whereas you’re aware that that voice was a voice, not a real being with authority over your life.”
“But then, if it wasn’t a delusion, what was it?”
“I don’t know. It could have been a dream. Could have been someone playing a trick on you. Your brother and your foster child live with you, right?”
Hmm. Rocky had become her foster child in people’s eyes? Yasmin tested the notion—I have a foster son—and found she didn’t mind it. “Yes, they live with me, but I can’t imagine either of them playing such a mean trick.”
Low Country Dreams Page 17
